Steel Dominance Read online

  The soft stomp of his boots subsided as he made for the door. There was a quiet click, and she was alone. “Oh my God.” She slumped. “That man.” Half the time she wanted to kill him, the other half, she wasn’t sure. Her female nature seemed to be playing havoc with her emotions. It must be the time of the month.

  “I’m sure I had other questions. But what in hell were they?”

  She opened her cases and blanched. Not only had he left some equipment behind, all her clothes had been replaced. How? The man must have had no more than two days’ notice of her joining him on this trip. He’d even removed the clothes from the smaller case she’d brought with her, and how fast was that? Was the man a magician? He’d left her notes and the lithographs at least.

  The new clothes stunned her. She’d spent her adult years only wearing a dress when she absolutely had to. Every single article of clothing he’d brought her was flimsy as a breeze, pretty and feminine, and as delicately revealing as lingerie.

  I am doomed. She put a fingernail in her mouth and nibbled. Though, goodness, all this must be worth more than her university stipend for a year. Were those real gemstones?

  Chapter Four

  It was a two-day trip to Byzantium, with all the stops to let passengers off or to dodge around the Ottoman territories. Learning to do the slave’s obeisance and how to kneel gracefully on command without grimacing was nigh impossible. Dankyo never looked smug. He merely instructed, yet it bothered her no end. Her mind endlessly reminded her that this was so wrong.

  The first time she did the obeisance with her forehead to the floor and arms outstretched, she’d had a fit of the giggles and earned a growl from the stupid man. This was not why she’d studied for years. But, she persevered, and so did he. And the first time she got it right, she’d waited in position for what seemed ages. The only word he spoke was a gruff, “Good.”

  When she sat up, he had a look of what she could only think of as puzzlement on his face. She might be a puzzle expert, but this one had her stumped. Did he think her so inept that she couldn’t learn simple body moves and positions?

  Maybe he did. To prove him wrong, she memorized and did the next two positions and moves perfectly in a quarter the time. Which had achieved exactly no more than a curt, thank you, from Dankyo. Annoying.

  Even in sleep he annoyed her. She’d not slept in the same room as a man more than a few times at university, and none of them had loud nightmares like Dankyo. Though she detested some of his ways, she couldn’t help but wonder what haunted him, and couldn’t help but feel concern. When she tried to wake him by hissing words at him, he’d sat up and muttered some unintelligible curses at her in the dark—and that had scared the hell out of her.

  By the second day, she was ready to gnaw her fingernails off from boredom and her shoulder surely had bruises from sleeping on the floor. No matter which way she’d turned, the timber floor had been like rock. The alternative was to share the bed with Dankyo, which was going to happen over her still-twitching corpse. Never.

  If only there was something worth doing in the cabin. She’d pored over her notes and the lithographs of the tomb so many times the words floated before her eyeballs. The picture of the Clockwork Warrior in all his gold-and-mosaic magnificence always captured her attention. The two certified paintings of him, seated with his sword between his knees, were what she’d based her thesis on. She’d not thought anyone outside academia would read it, but it seemed someone had. The emperor-bey of Byzantium no less. She could see the smile on her father’s face as he congratulated her.

  As if. He’d probably call it a lucky guess.

  She slipped the lithograph of the paintings back into a folder, tossed it into the open suitcase, and considered her options. With her hands on the quilt by her side, she scanned the room.

  All she had left to do was to read books on how to grow flowers or raise children, or to peer out the little portholes at the clouds.

  The door banged open.

  She jumped. “Oh.”

  “Time to see how well you can shoot.” Dankyo stood in the doorway.

  She heaved in a breath. “Lead the way.” Outside! Yes!

  “I’ve arranged to tow a target from the rear gun platform.”

  Gun platform? But she held her tongue, noting the curious passersby, and followed Dankyo along the corridor toward the rear of the ship. Head down, two steps behind. The mantra came to her automatically, and she realized how wise all the practicing, all the circling of the cabin behind Dankyo, had been. The backstabbing treacheries of the court at Byzantium were often featured in the papers. I just never thought my research would lead me to this.

  To be allowed into the harem to examine the tomb close-up, the first foreigner to do so for centuries, was an incredible honor. Especially as she was damn near certain she could solve the mystery of the Clockwork Warrior. I can do this. Dankyo might be an arrogant, irritating—she glanced at his back—handsome pain in the rear, but he knew what he was doing.

  They reached a steel-reinforced door. The hulking Sten waited there.

  “Afternoon, Dankyo.” He nodded and swept her with an appraising look before unlocking the door.

  “Sir.” Dankyo nodded back. “You’re well armed for a passenger vessel.”

  “Yep. Never hurts to be careful, though. We’ve fought off a few pirates over the ocean. ’Specially where the borders are iffy. War brings out the worst in people, and round here there’s been centuries of it.” Sten ushered them through. Wind gusted. The gun platform was a semicircular room half open to the sky.

  As she squeezed past Sten, Sofia felt the heat from his body. Once she and Dankyo were inside the room housing the gun platform, Sten came in behind and shut the door. The metal cupola with two gun barrels projecting outward didn’t distract her for long. The two men mightn’t be much taller than her, but they were both fit and well muscled. Sten had the physical dimensions of a statue of an ancient hero, even if he was dressed in khaki overalls. The presence of these two massive men with her in this small room made her want to shrink into the wall.

  “I don’t like slavery,” Sten muttered. “You know that, don’t you, man?”

  The darkness in his blue eyes made her cringe and shuffle back.

  Dankyo gestured downward with his palm—the signal he’d taught Sofia for kneeling. “Behind me.”

  She slipped to her knees, grateful to no longer be the focus of Sten.

  “I gathered that when we boarded. I apologize if this offends you, but we will be disembarking soon.”

  As if Dankyo had said nothing, Sten continued. “I was a slave once. So you see, I was planning on tossing you overboard if I found out she was one.”

  Sofia let out a frightened gasp and trembled. Oh Lord! He’s planning to kill Dankyo! What did he intend to do to her?

  “You’d find that difficult to achieve.” Though his tone of voice was as steady as that of a man discussing the time of day, Dankyo shifted his leg until his trouser cloth brushed Sofia’s shoulder. His fingers casually touched her head.

  Calmness settled in her. She was trusting Dankyo? Internally she shrugged at herself. Then his fingers moved slowly on her hair. Between her legs tingled. Like an invisible ocean current, desire surfaced.

  She shut her eyes. Here I am, kneeling on the floor, with two men discussing killing one another, and I’m getting wet? What is wrong with me?

  Something about the kneeling position next to Dankyo, as if he truly owned her and protected her, gave a deeper significance to what had seemed a pointless exercise. Yet she couldn’t quite understand why.

  “Guess I would. Stand down. I like you even if I haven’t the foggiest what you two are planning.” Sten chuckled. “If she’s a slave, I’ll eat my ship.”

  Silence hung in the air for a moment.

  “You’ve scared Sofia.”

  “Oh. Damn. Hey, I ain’t planning to do it, little Sofia. I was joking. Sorry, sometimes I get carried away.”

 
Little? She looked up at him and caught a wink. Little Sofia? She’d have spat out a smart and biting comment only yesterday. Today, though, she held her tongue, and almost held back the frown. With her knowledge of Arabic, Greek, and Ottoman, nothing at the court would slip past her. There would be worse said in Byzantium. I can do this.

  Dankyo grunted. “Then I can’t see why you bothered suggesting it.”

  “Just testing you. Being sure. Now.” He gestured at the open sky behind Sofia. “You said you wanted some target practice. There you go. I have to stay and watch, though. That cannon’s too lethal for me to leave you here alone.”

  After a few seconds, Dankyo spoke. “Very well. Understandable. Sofia, rise and tell me if you can use this revolver.”

  “Ha!” Sten leaned against the wall. “Knew it. No owner sets a gun in the hands of a little bed slave like she looks to be.” He jerked his head at her when she hesitated. “Keep going. I’m just watching from here on. Kaysana could likely shoot circles around this one, though.”

  “Oh?” Dankyo steered her to a place to the left of the cannon’s handgrips and triggers. This gun was double barreled, and each barrel was a yard and a half of blue-and-gray metal with a fat green glass tube running along the underside.

  “Here.” He dragged his revolver from inside his black coat. The metal clunked heavily when he placed the weapon on the timber edge of the cupola. “See if you can hit that out there.”

  From an anchor point on the timber, a thin rope trailed out about ten yards, and at the other end, a small green balloon wobbled in the winds.

  “Twenty drachma says she misses,” Sten declared.

  What?

  Dankyo regarded her thoughtfully and tapped his fingers beside the revolver. “You’re on.”

  Something snapped. Damn them both, toying with me. I’m a scientist, not some horse to bet on.

  And yet…there was more than that. She looked down, too aware of the bulk of Dankyo inches away, of his body’s scent and that of his garments. Everything rolled together. Her lack of clothes made her female vulnerability come to the fore, where it tangled up with her logical, don’t-fuck-with-me self. Two men with her, in a small room where her every breath was clogged with their essence. The thick sexuality made her skin tingle. Made her dread.

  Something terrible seemed just there, beyond her fingertips.

  Fantasies surfaced—the ones she always had, late at night, in dreams and nightmares. The ones where she lay helpless while a man did as he liked with her body; the ones that played in her mind when her staid, sensible lovers took her to the brink: the ones that she needed every single time to reach orgasm. The rape fantasies she’d never told anyone, ever.

  Damn. They’re just imaginary, leave them be, stupid. Except now, it was Dankyo featuring front and center, inside her head, toying with her, doing what he wanted, bending her over the timber, wrenching down her panties…

  What was worse, she knew all about his patron, Theo Kevonis, and what he got up to with his woman. Dankyo would know how to handle a woman who wanted what she did.

  “Sofia?” Dankyo prompted.

  “I’m okay.” She swallowed.

  Her pussy clenched. If he touches me…

  “Think your bet’s lost,” Sten said drily.

  Her whole body throbbed, and her throat tightened. Want, need, and logic spun out of control. She tensed every muscle and fought off the choking fog of desire.

  I’m not a thing!

  She glared at the cannon. Fuck them.

  This is just another puzzle. The way of the cannon’s mechanism slipped into her mind like a well-worn key in a lock. She took a half step sideways, slapped off the safety catches, grasped the handgrips, and was a millisecond away from blowing the little green balloon into smithereens when somebody grabbed her waist and hauled her off.

  She wriggled. Four hands were on her. Sten released her and stepped away.

  “Jeepers, little lady, don’t do that again. That fuckin’ cannon’s bullets cost me a day’s income if you shoot off a whole belt.”

  “Language, sir.” Dankyo’s voice rumbled like a load of rocks sliding down a chute. He straightened her tunic. Her mind was in disarray. Thoughts tumbled. She stared down at herself. See-through. Sprays of yellow daisies all through the cloth. Pretty. She let Dankyo handle her like some doll. She trembled.

  Forget he’s holding you. Damn damn damn. But she couldn’t stop thinking of how wet she was between her legs. Of his fingers at her waist and how he warmed her. And the longer he touched her, the wetter she became.

  Focus.

  Sofia stared at her shaking hands. “I’m sorry. I just…”

  “Hey, it’s okay.” Sten resumed leaning on the wall. “Just carry on. I guess I upset you earlier. Pay attention to your man. Do your shooting and we’ll all be done sooner than later. Forget our silly bet.”

  “Yes. Forget.” Dankyo nudged up her chin with his fingers.

  Mmm. The casual touch mesmerized her. She tilted up her head a little more and made herself meet his eyes. His dark brown eyes. Looking at her. Did he see what she felt? God. No. She tensed more, clamping down so she wouldn’t reveal how he affected her.

  “Sofia, I don’t know what went wrong there, but I’m…”

  She shivered, once, and felt it travel all the way down her body. Damn.

  Dankyo stayed silent, but his eyes brightened.

  Talk. Answer him.

  “It was just nerves,” she said quietly.

  He blinked, then nodded. “I see.” He flexed his fingers at her waist, then tightened them again. “I wonder, Sofia, would you call yourself the serious and well-grounded sort of woman?” Hidden meanings seemed to leak from every syllable.

  She swallowed. Why do I feel like I’m on the edge of a cliff? “I guess.”

  “Well answered.” Then he smiled and ran his thumb along her lower lip before settling his hand at her waist. “That’s good. Very, very good.”

  The silence pulsed between them, and she couldn’t bring herself to move, or to say anything. Somehow, she knew that her reply had been, all at the same time, both right and so awfully wrong. He left his hands where they were, holding her as if he had all the time in the world to find out precisely how she ticked.

  Oh God. No.

  “Hey, you two,” Sten interrupted. “I can see you have things to chat about, but I have a ship to run. Can we get this done?”

  After that, shooting straight was unlikely. Not until the sixth shot did she manage to hit the balloon. Dankyo soon decided she needed a smaller pistol.

  “That’s it, then.” Dankyo holstered the revolver. “Let’s go.”

  Sten leaned in as she exited past him. “Told you, you’d miss.”

  She shrugged. “You should have let me use the cannon.”

  “Ha!” He grinned and thumped the doorjamb. “Saucy little slave you have, man.”

  Dankyo twitched both eyebrows upward. “Yes. I know. I think I need to beat her more.”

  The heat of a blush swept her face. Oh my. He is joking, isn’t he? Surely that didn’t come with the pretending?

  He offered his hand to Sten. “Thank you, sir, for the use of your facility.”

  “My pleasure.” They shook hands.

  Though Dankyo stepped back, he didn’t turn away, and he hooked his thumbs in his trouser pockets.

  Sten leaned against the door again and waited.

  “I’ve heard rumors about you and your Captain Kaysana.”

  “Aha. What rumors?”

  “That you were involved in some big problem in Tibet. Something that involved zombies and a lot of people dying. I even heard that you and she were heroes. Maybe stopped some sort of plague?”

  “Really? Zombies? You’re joking, right? Zombies?” Sten screwed up his mouth, then shook his head slowly. “We’re a colorful couple, I guess, but nah, just a crazy rumor.”

  “I thought you’d say that, but…glad I shook your hand. Honored, in fact.”
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  “Sure. Sure. Nice to make your acquaintance too.”

  With that they parted ways. Sofia followed after Dankyo again, happy she was no longer the focus of his attention. Such a strange conversation back there. She assumed Dankyo had his reasons for it but strange nonetheless.

  When they reached their cabin, Dankyo allowed her to enter first, and she ducked around him.

  “I’d like to talk to you, Sofia. About what just happened.”

  His words were so simple, yet they sent havoc coursing through her. Talk? She wasn’t ready for this.

  He’d touched her lips. And she wanted him to touch her elsewhere…everywhere. Yet explaining her reaction might lead to him demanding to know her fantasies, and they were never seeing the light of day. Normal women didn’t want to be held down and raped.

  Already her feet led her to the bathroom. Escaping. Yes. She opened the white-painted door. The doorknob was cold on her skin.

  “Sofia?”

  “I’ll”—she swallowed—“be a moment.”

  Inside she sat on the tapestry upholstered armchair, laid her head back until it bumped the wall, and sighed. Damn him.

  The door creaked as if someone leaned on it. Her eyelids snapped open. Did I lock it?

  “Are you avoiding me, Sofia?”

  Clearing the lump from her throat so her voice wasn’t raspy took a few seconds. “No.”

  If he asked her what, exactly, she was doing in here, he’d get a nasty reply.

  I’m safe in here. Safe.

  From what? My own fantasies, or my fears? That was the trouble—her fantasies and fears were all knotted together in one big mess.

  “You know, I think I’ll just talk even if you don’t answer.”

  What? She frowned, drumming her fingers on one of the arms of the chair. Go ahead. Ramble on. The man was insufferable.

  “I enjoyed holding you.”

  God. This was getting worse.

  “Have you heard of dominance and submission, Sofia?”

  Don’t answer! But she sat up and listened.

  “The way you reacted to me back at the cannon made me think you liked me holding you. Even liked me holding you very still and under my command. That is how submissives feel. Stop me if I’m bothering you in any of this. If you don’t speak, I’ll keep going. No need to respond if you aren’t comfortable. I understand. I used to be that way. Then I found out that I like being the dominant sexual partner.”